


no one loves me like you do

by campbellsouptm



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, F/F, One Shot, Sad, Sad Ending, loosely inspired by nectar, not really but yaknow, rated T for tears, reimagining of the bridge scene, they kiss and the earth explodes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26824078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/campbellsouptm/pseuds/campbellsouptm
Summary: “The bridge is inherently symbolic of communication and union, whether it be between heaven and earth or two distinct realms. For this reason it can be seen as the connection between God and Man. It may be the passage to reality, or merely a symbol for travel and crossing.”or“What do you want?” came the golden question, curved at the edges, sharp and biting.“I want to kiss you. Properly. Not the headbutt thing you pulled on the bus.”Eve turned to face Villanelle and smiled, feeling older and younger than anyone had ever been, wise and innocent.orThe bridge scene but sadder
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 10
Kudos: 50





	no one loves me like you do

**Author's Note:**

> villaneve have consumed me
> 
> stream like you do by joji

There they were. Standing, barely an inch apart, leaning over the railing and peering over the water, shimmering, sparkly blue waves, darkened by the lull of night. A promise of repairment seeking to be whole. That is all we ever wish. Eve was overcome with the urge to plunge herself in it, clean herself, rid herself of this blooded affection that ran the river dry. 

Villanelle, or maybe Oksana (it was getting harder to tell), looked at her. 

It was just a look. A simple look, with her glassy eyes and soft, affectionate gaze, and yet Eve felt as if she had been dunked in the water, letting the waves purify her soul, piece her back together. It was so jarring she wanted to scream. 

Why have we been allowed to love?

“Eve,” Villanelle said, with no purpose other than to regard her, recognize her existence.

Eve was at a loss for words. There seemed to be no words for how much she felt towards Villanelle, towards Oksana. Nothing could properly convey this pull at her heart, this deep ache gnawing at her stomach. 

I love you. I love you more than anyone should be able to love someone else. I love you so much that if I stay, I feel like I will burn, and if I leave I know I will drown. You are all that I see. Please...

Tears came faster than she could process, heavy and steady, racing down her face and soaking her stupid, dark coat. And of course, Oksana, stupid Oksana, dragged a thumb down the trail, watching Eve come apart or come alive. There wasn’t really a difference, now.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” Oksana broke the silence, waves reflecting blue stars onto her eyes.

Eve found it to be a curious question. She had never considered it before. Never felt enough to consider it.

“Sometimes, I think...we have the same soul,” Eve confessed, letting some words rise into the night and others sink into the water.

“That would make us more broken.”

We are nothing if not broken.

“I know.”

Eve was overcome with the gripping desire to reach out and touch Oksana, feel her breathing, make her real. When was she not overcome? The want she felt was dizzying.

The stars sparkled, tiny inviting flecks of gold, illuminating the path, setting up the journey of connection.

“I got married,” Villanelle admitted in a hushed tone, disconnected from the word. What is marriage, anyway?

Married?

“That makes two of us,” Eve tried to joke, shocked and apathetic simultaneously. 

“She was...young. Thin hair. Rich. I tried to forget, but you can’t be forgotten. God, I was wasting away without you.”

Eve felt the weight of her words and let them anchor her, arrested by the image of Villanelle surrounded by people but unbearably alone.

“Oksana…” Eve whispered, as if she was a secret, hidden and unloved.

“Do you regret it? The stabbing, I mean,” Villanelle added for clarification.

Yes, I would change everything. I would’ve laid down next to you and made love to you, I would’ve left Niko and quit MI6 and we could’ve lived in a cabin in Alaska and showed each other a deeper love than anyone has ever experienced before.

“I like our scars,” Eve replied instead, hating how true it was.

Villanelle smiled weakly, eyes prickling with tears, “Me too,” she said softly.

Eve reached out to stroke the fabric of that mustard yellow coat. Had she ever seen her in yellow, stripped bare? She wondered if Villanelle could ever be happy.

“Eve, how many words have we spoken to each other?”

Eve did not want to give thought to what Villanelle was implying. The endless time spent apart still haunted her, all the words unsaid. 

“You’re asking a lot of questions.”

“Because I want to know you.”

Don’t we all?

“You already do,” Eve thought back to perfect clothes that clung sinfully well to her form. Doubt was a killer.

“I thought I did. I don’t know if I know anything anymore.”

Her voice was so sad. It carried out to the currents, splayed there, got lost again. 

Eve considered asking if she could touch her scar. The need was always there, lurking just beneath the surface, licking hotly at her veins. It brought her back to when she’d trace shaky fingers over her own wound, sighing and sputtering and stumbling and crashing into her darkness, wishing she’d been stabbed instead. 

“The water is so calm. Makes me want to melt into it,” Villanelle said carefully.

Eve thought of them, wrapped in the waves, no worries. She knew calm, had seen it, had been it. She was sick of it. 

“I used to be calm. It isn’t fun.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Villanelle remarked, feeding the divide, feeling the separation, fearing the distinction.

“What do you want?” came the golden question, curved at the edges, sharp and biting. 

“I want to kiss you. Properly. Not the headbutt thing you pulled on the bus.”

Eve turned to face Villanelle and smiled, feeling older and younger than anyone had ever been, wise and innocent.

The promise of a kiss settled deep in her bones. The memory of the bus lingered still, but it was faded, quick and sudden and wonderfully weird. Eve often wondered what would’ve happened if she hadn’t headbutted her. Would they have kissed again? Would Villanelle have spoken? What would she have said? So many quietly shattering revelations had escaped that mouth..

Their lips were criminally close, hanging on to the edge of another reality, soon to be destroyed. Eve felt the brush of their bodies, felt the sway, felt nothing in between. No cold metal pressing on either side, molding to fit broken hands. Maybe it was better this way, better that she wasn’t afraid. This was home. 

Villanelle kissed Eve first, tenderly and soft, too soft, lips painting an age-old story of a thousand suns burning and falling apart. The waves parted, deep blue water just sitting there. The elements held their breath, waiting to exhale. This was bigger than them. A test of the love God crafted, how it bends, how it changes, how many forms it can take, how much space it can fill, how much blood it can spill.

Her taste was intoxicating, addicting, like drinking the sweetest drops of sea after a long drought. Eve kissed her, again and again, the sliding and smacking of lips registering as heaven in her ears, as love. Eve tasted Oksana’s tears and pulled away, salty and wet. She found aching regret in them, found herself in them. For the amount of pain they’ve experienced they could drown in each other’s tears alone. 

God, Villanelle was right. It does sound kind of nice.

Eve found herself apologizing, if for no reason other than to justify their shared sorrow, “I’m sorry it took so long, I’m sorry I-“

Villanelle struck back, just as wounded, “Please don’t apologize. You owe nothing to me and I owe you everything.”

Villanelle’s eyes spoke to her with the gut-wrenching acceptance of a love never to come to fruition. They had found each other, but at what cost? Eve could already feel Villanelle slipping away, becoming a shell of who she once was. The hope she was grasping onto was receding into the depths of time. 

If I kissed you once more, would you stay?

“I never stopped thinking about you. Not even for a minute. I felt you everywhere, like a ghost,” Eve laughed pathetically, briefly remembering the boring assassin with the kind kills,”I know you hate ghosts.”

Villanelle made no indication that she had heard Eve other than the almost unnoticeable quirk of her lip.

“Were you ever mine?” Eve asked, unwilling to depart. 

“We are each other’s.”

“If that were true you’d stay,” Eve furrowed her brows and tilted her head, a pained expression playing on her face, as if to say, See? I need you. I can’t live without you. 

“You look so beautiful in the moonlight.” 

Distantly, Eve recognized this was a deflection, but couldn’t find it in herself to care. It was in the way she spoke, so horribly sincere. Something that lit her nerves alight.

Then it happened. Villanelle took a step back, then another, then once more after that, black books clanking on the cold ground, and with each step Eve’s world sank into itself, crashing, malfunctioning. A lifeline being snapped. Even ten feet away, or across continents, or pressed tightly together, Eve felt she was just out of reach. 

The loss registered as physical pain, starting as a pricking in her toes and ending in the buzzing of her hands. Colors were foreign. Black, all black, everything black, suffocatingly black. 

Would she turn around? They had more to say, more to feel, more to touch. People are not destined for isolation. This went against fate. 

She felt it so deeply. Their lives had intertwined, collided, been made one. What is love if not this unbearable yearning for another? Love is obsession, hidden.

“Why are you doing this?” 

Quietly, she knew, just as she had always known. Villanelle turned around, halfway, shining and thrumming and hers. 

“Because I love you. And you will always see me like that and you never should’ve.”

“I see all of you.”

Oksana shook her head, frantically, “No, Eve. Please don’t make this harder.”

Everything retreated, the stars, the moon, the waves, passerby. The bridge seemed to shrink, becoming impossibly small.

“I love you.”

To say or to think, it was one and the same. Then followed the haunting understanding that it could be felt but never shared. 

Villanelle was every color, rays and beams, an abundance of color, dark and light and the muddiness in between. The soft pastel of Paris, the harsh red of Rome, the abrasive yellow of London, greys and pinks and purples and greens, all that she had never seen. The very pit of her gasped in the absence of it. Nothing would ever glow again.

Eve was her oxygen, plain and simple. Villanelle walked away, knowing she would never breathe again. Only the memory of her lips and sighs, a ghostly wet kiss to guide her in the darkness of night. Could she write her letters, scrape out the guts of her heart and leave them in the seal? No. The cut had to be clean. Sure, she could love Eve, but she could never give her peace.

Saying goodbye would be to yield to reality. What they had was never real. It was beyond comprehension, beyond reason, beyond understanding. And it would stay here, it would swell into this great hole and swallow them up, and they would let it, willingly.

They were moths, leading each other to the flame. Equally fatal. Fatally romantic. Their love was poetry, the darkest depths of it, what goes unsaid in the light. Bound by blood, destruction, depravity, all that is wrong. And yet it felt so right.

We were made to feel. Just not this much.

Is there another us on this whole planet?

Planet?

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me on tumblr @campbellsouptm
> 
> also check out my insta fan account @turtlenecktallulah
> 
> what y’all think?


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